The city was full of unhappy sweethearts.
Stoned ceramic tears, on melancholy faces.
The chilling wind blows inside my heart.
You passed by my side in a rush.
Beloved, I'm yearning for your early winter.
All the yellow thoughts will cut down from the tree of pain and will conceal randomly by a bitter blind wind.
The city was full of unhappy sweethearts.
That girl with the muted face and painted skin rose In my heart.
I belong to her first harvest and her final sunset.
YOU ARE READING
Letters To My Dark Friend (#Wattys2015)
PoesíaMy Dark friend, I have written those letters for you. It's getting darker before midnight .
